The Will To Live
by Tyrne J
Summary: A Sanzo-centric story involving a gun and lots of blood. (I actually have no words to describe this story. I'm sorry.)


Title: The Will To Live  
By: TyrneJ  
Series: Gensoumaden Saiyuki  
Disclaimer: Written by a fan, for fans only. GMSaiyuki is the property of Kazuya Minekura, who also owns Wild Adapter and Executive Committee, as well as the recent Bus Gamer. Plus. Mmm, Bus Gamer…  
[notes: I figured I'd taken enough of a break with "bpuws!", and almost immediately after I'd decided that, this idea came into my mind. Oog. I'm going to bed, now.]  
  
He could not see the sunlight.  
  
How often had he heard that phrase from Goku? That monkey-boy, always beaming, eyes closed, but face radiant, even as he told what he could about his life in the cave. How it was cold, and dark, and the light he saw came, sometimes, from the snow, but there had hardly been any direct sunlight.  
  
And here, Genjo Sanzo nearly had to roll his eyes at the thought – Son Goku staring up, wide-eyed, at the sun, drinking in its rays, basking, mouth open in a smile.   
  
The moron would have gone blind a long time ago if he were that enamored with the sun.  
  
He is blind, now.  
  
Light brown strands of hair flopped together in large clumps as the eighteen-year-old stumbled forward, one hand outstretched, the other hand clenching the long red pole known as the Nyoi-bo. A gleam of gold appeared briefly from underneath those locks as he moved, but underneath the crown there was supposed to be a pair of golden eyes – the eyes of a heretic.  
  
They were no longer there.  
  
"S-Sanzo!" The normally bright voice was weak, now, and Sanzo instinctively backpedaled to avoid being tackled. Blood streamed down the young man's face, around an open, pleading mouth.   
  
It was all over the place, the blood.  
  
The room was growing dark, the dim light from the ceiling lamp dying slowly as its flames flickered out.   
  
Sanzo felt his right arm twitch, and stupefied, he watched, as his arm pulled up his revolver. Undid the safety.   
  
Steadied it at Goku.  
  
"San – "  
  
Bang.  
  
Center of the forehead. He never thought he could have done it, but his arm was steady. Dead center.  
  
He watched as the boy's body moved, in slow motion. Chin lifting, head moving back to hit the wall behind him, arms swinging forward –   
  
Nyoi-bo dropping.   
  
Blood. In a spray, arcing from Goku's body.  
  
And then there was a flash of color, as something hit him on the side. Sanzo could feel the space behind his eyes throbbing, his body curving to the left with the impact.  
  
Another wall.  
  
Two bodies hit the wall with a loud crack, and looking down immediately, the first thing Sanzo noticed that he still had a firm grip on the gun.   
  
His other hand had a firm grip on a shock of red hair. Sha Gojyo.  
  
This one was older than the boy he had just shot down, a half-demon. Red hair. And angry eyes.  
  
"Why'd you – "   
  
There was a tone that Gojyo always used on Sanzo; he defied authority, he laughed at danger, that tone. Long hair, grown out because Sanzo had approved of the shorter style. Different cigarettes, no plan for the rest of his life. Nasty cigarettes.  
  
The man was full of appearances; it was hard to tell what he really was, hard to see what he truly wanted people to see.   
  
Long hair. His hand tightened its grip around Gojyo's hair, and yanked up. How hard was it to do that? Sanzo could not tell. It drew blood, in any case.  
  
His right arm was twitching again. Beneath the ribcage this time, perhaps.  
  
Darkened eyes, covered by a trickle of fresh blood. Was there fright? Surprise?  
  
"Sanzo, wait a – "  
  
Click. Bang.  
  
Was it nighttime yet?  
  
Sanzo was not aware of the warm weight on his lap anymore. He could not say he was even truly aware of the wet, sticky blood that was quickly pouring out from Gojyo's body and onto his robes. Gojyo was always messy, he didn't care about this.  
  
The innkeeper had mentioned something about rain.  
  
He truly hated the rain.  
  
Shoving Gojyo off of his lap, he stood up again, feeling the weight of his revolver as it hung from his hand loosely. How strange it felt, to feel so nonchalant about the situation. How strange…  
  
He'd lost his cigarettes. First whatever light he had, and now, his cigarettes.  
  
The next thing to go would probably be his gun.  
  
He could feel lithe fingers on his right hand, encircling the gun.  
  
"Sanzo, what has gotten into you?" Cho Hakkai's voice was as calm as ever, though he knew better than to think the man was unworried. "Goku, and Gojyo…"  
  
There was a light tapping at the window. The rain.   
  
Sanzo fought off the insane urge to laugh out loud. It was the rain, not a gun, that would kill Hakkai. They both knew well enough what it was that would kill each other, because it was the same thing.   
  
How inane.  
  
Together, they gazed at the only window in the room, imagining the droplets of water that could only be heard in the growing darkness. The window was like a mirror, and as Hakkai stood next to it, gazing out, dark hair covering a monocled eye, lips softened into a faint smile, growing fainter, Sanzo could see his own reflection in the windowpane.  
  
It was a wonder how he managed to keep his hair, in all his years as a Sanzo. Blond, unruly. And he was short.   
  
And bloody. The lower part of his robes, Gojyo's doing, and the red dots on his guard and sleeves, Goku's fault.   
  
Hakkai sighed softly, still gazing out the window, as if he had forgotten already the bodies on the floor.  
  
"It looks like a flood, tonight…"  
  
Hakkai could die from a gunshot wound. He would. Sanzo could already feel his arm lifting.  
  
Through the back of the head.  
  
Bang.  
  
And now, even the rain had stopped coming to him.  
  
He dropped the gun.  
  
So, what else to do now? Eat, but there was nothing but the stench of fresh blood. Sleep, but then there was more of the same.  
  
He dropped to his knees next to the window, watching with dulled eyes as Hakkai's slumped body slid to lie on its side.   
  
Was this what he wanted? But even if he had not wished for it, it had already happened.   
  
But they were never so easy to kill. Why, of all times, would they let him kill them now?  
  
/"I'm rechargeable!"/  
  
/"It would take more than one shot to kill him – "/  
  
/"I don't intend to die anytime soon…"/  
  
But who had said what? And what did it matter? Sanzo eyed the gun on the floor, watched as it glimmered in what little light was left in the room.  
  
Did they not love life? Did he not love life?  
  
Well. "Love" was too strong for that. Maybe he liked it.  
  
Maybe.  
  
He smirked, his lips pulling into a wide, stupid grin. His arm twitched again, and soon, the gun was back in his hand, still warm from earlier.  
  
Maybe.  
  
Bang.

* * *

He opened his eyes to sunlight.  
  
The soft sounds of water dripping outside the window.  
  
The drifting scent of a horrible brand.  
  
"Good morning, Sanzo," A soft voice offered greetings in the quiet room. "Sleep well?"  
  
A door burst open, and bright golden eyes peered over a pile of blankets. "Sanzo! Sanzo! We're staying for breakfast, right? They have these great jelly doughnuts!"  
  
"Knock it off, Goku!" Laughed a voice from beyond the doorway. "Can't you see you're disturbing our Sanzo-sama's beauty sleep?"  
  
"But I gotta know! Are we staying for breakfast, Sanzo? Huh?"  
  
His arm twitched, and he reached for his paper fan, sliding his hand out from under the blankets.  
  
Whack. "Go eat your damned breakfast, but leave me alone!"  
  
"Aha! Thanks, Sanzo!"  
  
A low chuckle. "I suppose it's just as well, though. It rained more than I thought it would last night, and Hakuryuu doesn't seem to want to leave just yet."  
  
"… Fine by me."  
  
"Hey, Hakkai, while we're waiting around for the animals, care to check out the game room with me?"  
  
"What game do you have in mind?"  
  
"That's why we're going to look, y'know…"  
  
"Ahahaha…"  
  
He could feel them leaving the room, hear them walking down the hall. And he had them all back, the sunlight, the rain, those damned cigarettes –   
  
He paused and turned his head. Halfway covered by ivory robes, freshly cleaned the day before, sat the revolver, its chamber still loaded all the way.   
  
Satisfied, he laid his head back and closed his eyes.  
  
Love life or not, he preferred this life, anyway.  
  
[end] 


End file.
